Moonstones and Moonshine
by A Silver Crown
Summary: There's a new supernatural being in the town of Beacon Hills, and he is unlike anything the pack has met before—and what's the strangest thing about it is he keeps calling Stiles Thomas.… Or the one where Thomas and Newt are reincarnated from a different universe and somehow managed to find each other after all this time.
1. Prologue

**author's note; Reasons being, Erica and Boyd are still alive. Not very season 3 of tw compliant. Stiles was still possessed by the Nogitsune and all that junk. There is Malia but its short lived and major bashing of her ensues.**

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><p>Minho watched, tight-lipped and brows furrowed as Newt descended farther down into his trance. The blond necromancer's body twitched and jerk every few seconds, moving as if on auto pilot or being controlled by strings from a puppeteer—moving across the room, digging see through glass jars to take handfuls of silvery white sand and crushed mint leaves from Asia. Newt walked stiffly back to the center of the room where a white ceramic bowl was burning, ashes of flowers dusting along the edges of its rim, and the smell of cider-pine lingered through the air.<p>

"Unnerving isn't it?"

Minho turned around in his revolving chair, hands clutched to his chest as he was taken, yet again, surprise by Newt's familiar, a shape-shifter by the name of Alby.

The dark skinned male was leaning against doorway, a smug smile on his face. He a bit shorter than both Newt and Minho but that sure didn't stop him, he had knocked Minho flat on his ass during the first year they had met as if he was nothing more than a falling leaf to be swatted at. Minho, the previous year, had become suspicious when a series of calamities taken place in his home town and that the blond always seemed to linger during the supposed scenes of the crime; Minho on pride and adrenaline was almost positive that the British exchange student had something do with it—and he was right. Minho followed Newt after school one day, trailing silently behind him when Newt suddenly in the middle of the hallway, convulsing and muttering the words of _the maze, the maze, and something called WICKED._

He had tried helping the blond, honest, no matter how much he thought the blond was the cause all of it; but he was knocked over before he could even help the blond up. A stout black teen hefted the Brit easily up with one arm before boogying out with lightning fast speed that even Minho knew was entirely possibly when carrying a person. No matter how small they were. They were like smoke; dark, visible and easily just as gone as it was there.

And through another series of nosiness/more calamity that were primarily caused by a certain person named Minho, he had found out the truth. The Brit and his dark skinned companion were searching for a demon to destroy and question by the name of Murmur that had taken residence in the tiny town. Through major ups and downs, they finally succeeded in capturing, interrogating, and destroying the blasted creature in just a matter of two weeks. And then it came time for them to leave, and much to the Mage and familiar's surprise, Minho demanded he be brought along as well. Not without telling his parents first and finding the nearest conman to make them a selection of false IDs. Minho's parents let him go and everything else was practically history. Practically being the keyword.

"Jesus Christ, Alby! Do you have to do that, every single fucking time. You know you're much better off being like some witch's black cat for Newt."

"If you want to keep your tongue I suggest you keep silent—cat or not, I will kill you."

Minho huffed at the familiar's dramatics.

They resumed their silence, watching Newt carry on in his spell of his.

It was several moments before they spoke again.

"I suppose," Minho popped the p sound. "It is rather…freaky, seeing him twitch like that."

Alby smirked at the younger boy.

"Well don't worry too much, Newt is rarely physically hurt during his spell. He's just finding the next point of power."

"Yeah about that—_supernatural_ as in point of power?"

"Yes, there has been a disturbance lately. Demons and other black magic creatures are popping seemingly from out of nowhere, but they're all coming or going to same location."

"And Newt's trying to find it?"

"Yes."

They lapsed into silence once more.

"Do you think Newt is strong enough for it? I mean I know you guys are pretty strong with your little hoo-doo and all, but we're going straight to the source."

"Well—

There was loud boom, followed by a mint green cloud of smoke, sputters and coughs audible from within it.

"God, was that a spell for like a fucking fart cloud. Stuff reeks."

"Shut the hell up," more coughs could be heard. "I found," cough, "the location. Alby please open up a bloody door or something!"

There were several more moments of hacking coughs before the room was cleared. Newt stood in the center of the room, looking tired but happy.

"We're going to Beacon Hills." Newt told them.


	2. Chapter 1

**Hello! I'm just amazed! Three reviews already! I'm so excited argh! Also I have some very important news for all of those that are following the story. I plan to update every Sunday. (well unless something comes up..) I have another story in the works and I told my friend that it would come first before any fic. So I'm sorry, but in addition I'll possibly add little chapter snippets here and there :) so enjoy! **

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><p>"I'm fine—<em>really<em>." Stiles said.

_I'm totally not okay, I was basically mind raped by a fucking ancient ass demon and violated in the worst possible way ever_ is what Stiles really wanted to say, but he didn't—instead, choosing to lie to Lydia; who was once his strawberry blonde goddess of romantic interest. He didn't want to worry her, she had been traumatized enough by the whole ordeal.

He swallowed dryly, remembering, though it was foggy and very dreamlike, Lydia screaming for Allison over, and over again. He didn't know who he felt the guiltiest for; Scott, his eternal bro, or Lydia, his once love of his life.

"You're lying," Lydia snapped, she shakily applied another layer of bubblegum lipgloss, bringing up a pale hand to shift her hair out of her face. Stiles watched as Lydia preened herself. Most would think she was shallow, but Stiles knew better, this was her way of grieving and regaining a since of normalcy. She wanted to revert to being back to being the ice Queen she was when she ruled the social ladder. Before she meet Allison. And you, his thoughts whispered.

"You can't tell," Stiles reminded her, already turning down the different direction of the hall way. "I've gotta go, see ya, Lyds."

Lydia's hands quivered as she slammed her locker door close, her eyes filling with unshed tears.

"It's not your fault you know." she whispered. Stiles heard her, but kept walking. It didn't matter what they said, it would always be his fault.

—

Everywhere he went people were asking _are you okay_, _do you need anything_, and even Mr. Harris seemed to keep his undying hatred for Stiles on lock. He wanted to scream at all of them, throw a desk at someone—to tell then to treat him like he was before. He wasn't delicate, but he wasn't okay. He just wanted to be treated normally. Just to forget the pain and misery he had caused to all his loved ones. His hands trembled all day.

"Bilinski? You paying attention?" Coach was speaking to him, eyes wide with worry. He must think Stiles broken as well.

"Yes?" Stiles replied softly, he sunk further down in seat, the back of his neck sweaty with distress. He wondered briefly if Scott could smell him. Stiles also wondered how long he was gone this time. He doesn't even remember walking into Health Class, let alone any of his classes but it seemed like his body moved on auto pilot for him. He's been having these… _blinks_, he'd be sitting there, perfectly normal when he was suddenly transported back in time with his prison inside his own body. Lydia told him it was PTSD flashback. He had told her lipstick was smudged and walked away before she could reply.

"You feeling okay?"

Stiles clenched his fists underneath his desk, body ramrod straight.

"I'm fine. Really."

Coach paused, his and everyone else's eyes lingering on the boy before returning to their lesson.

—

Lunch in the cafeteria was an awkward affair, Scott sat stiffly beside him the whole time, throwing him worried looks and glances. Lydia was glaring, her pouty lips set in a tight line. Erica and Boyd were picking moodily at their plate of deflated meat loaf. (A half-ass welcome back to school lunch!) Danny looked miserable as he didn't know what was going on and then there was Kira. Stiles, in a way, certainly blamed her. He tried not to—but couldn't help it.

Her mother was the one who brought the Nogitsune. So really his hatred for the teen stemmed from the hatred towards her mother. Kira was actually kind of nice.

Stiles sighed, shoveling a mouthful of dry meatloaf into his mouth. Why did his life have to have so much bullshit?

"Stiles? Stiles!"

Stiles blinked, swallowing down his mouthful of food. Lydia and Scott were nearly half way out their seats, hands raised as if Stiles was some kind of threatened creature that might bite. And to be perfectly honestly, he felt doing it.

"_What_?" he asked hoarsely.

"Stiles, you were shaking," Scott whispered, the students within the cafeteria were now looking at them with profound interest. "You looked like you were going to collapse."

"I knew it, I told you to stay home today, Stiles! You're obviously not up to par."

Stiles slammed his hands down on the food littered Formica table, causing everyone and their trays to jump.

"Have you wondered why, Lydia? Hmm? Maybe it's because you're reminding me of it everything single day. _I can see it in your faces_, the way you look at me as if it's my fault. Don't you think I know? I know it's my fault and so could you please—leave me alone. I want to pretend just for today, that I nearly hadn't died and no one else had."

The table remained silent after that. Stiles still trembled as he ate.

—

After school it was a little bit better, Stiles had ran first thing to the Jeep, hopping in and jamming the key into ignition. He didn't want to sit through another pack meeting to be stared or coddled at. He'd deal with them at another time this week. Right now he just had to get home. His guy was clenching, mouth watering as if he might throw up. During the last period of his class he had dreamt another part of the Nogitsune's memory. Death upon death. Worms writhing, digging into pale decaying flesh, eating what was left of a milky white eye—he pulled over hurriedly to the side of the road, opened his door and threw up his lunch on a patch of dry grass and fallen leaves.

The tempo of his heart was beating out of control again, thudding at an increasingly high pace. He whimpered, a fresh wave tears descending down his cheeks.

"Mom…momma, help me please. I don't know how to handle this."

As usual, he didn't receive an answer to his problems. He was in the midst of a breakdown and blink, teetering back and forth between conscious and unconsciousness. It didn't matter anyway. A black fog clouded his vision, sending him in again into a realm of painful memories.

_The world was a bright startling green, very much unlike the blinks he had before. There was dog barking, the sounds of boys laughing, and the smell of food cooking. It felt oddly pleasant here. His fists clenched in fear, however. Nothing was what it appeared._

_He sat up, dusting his pants off when someone walked up behind him, hands clasped around eyes. Stiles moved quickly away, struggling to get away from whoever had touched him. He looked up into a worried face of a young girl with familiar blue eyes and lips. That didn't make sense. How could her features be familiar but her, herself?_

_"Did I scare you that bad, Tom?"_

_Stiles watched in horror as his body moved, without him controlling it. It spoke with out him but yet used his voice._

_"Yeah—can't blame me though, right? Still a bit jumpy from being out in that shuck maze."_

_The girl frowns before seating herself beside him, her warmth radiating something that felt like home._

_"You don't have worry anymore, Tom. I have a feeling everything's going to work out. I mean still sucks about Alby being stung but Newt made you runner, maybe you and Minho can really figure a way out. Your smart."_

_Runner._

_Shuck._

_Newt._

_Alby._

_The Maze._

The memories came to him at dizzyingly fast pace, bright flashes of it practically blinding Stiles and then…darkness.

"Wait! Don't go! Don't go! Who are you? WHO ARE YOU!"

Silence greeted him, then a sharp exhale of breath—his breath. He was back in his car, shirt and lips stained with droplets of acidic vomit. He sobbed into his palms.

"What's happening to me?"

—

He arrived, fifteen minutes later at his dark and empty home. His father's police cruiser missing from the gravel driveway.

In some way, Stiles was glad his father wasn't here to see him like this. The sight of his only son, speckled with dried vomit and tear tracks would probably cause a big uproar. His father had become increasingly protective over him in the last month and if he saw him like this…he'd probably be homeschooled and be secluded to his house for a very, very long time.

The amber eyed boy shrugged off his shirt as he made his way to the bathroom, skin tingling as he took in his sight in the the mirror. He was pale, moles dotting out a constellation out from his skin, just above his ribs. Bruises marred his upper and lower back. His eyes were the worst part of it all. They looked dim, glazed over like petrified honey. They looked dead and they looked fake. They looked like his mother's. He didn't even feel pain when he shattered the mirror with his fist, just the feeling of relief as he could no longer see himself anymore.

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><p>Minho looked down at the map again, eyes squinting as he traced their path from Iowa to California with his fingertip. He didn't want to say it out loud or admit it, but they were lost. No where even close to the place called Beacon Hills. Throwing up his hands high to the sky, he muttered, "Why me? I'm a good person."<p>

"You know that's a bloody lie." Came the sleepy voice of the Mage from the backseat of car. The blond's hair was sticking up in every possible direction, his bright brown eyes still glazed over from sleep. "Care to tell me why you woke me up screaming to sky god with all your yelling?"

"We're lost, I can't figure out this shit out. Wouldn't have it been easier to use a GPS?"

Newt yawned, sitting up his seat. A black crow ruffled its feathers, its chest puffing up and hitting at the blond necromancer with its wings.

"Cut it out, Alby. No, Beacon Hills is off the charts on a GPS. Only knowable through a very old map of California. Please don't rip that map by the way, I searched everywhere for it."

Minho snorted, flicking a dog eared corner of the map. Figures Newt'd want everything pristine and orderly. He bit down on his lower lip, thinking of the different passages and short cuts they would have to make unless they wanted to arrive there before dark.

Alby crowed, shrieking as his master started to convulse in his seat.

"Holy shit! What's happening?" Minho screeched as he pulled over the car, he turned around in his seat—watching Newt's eyes roll and quiver in its sockets. Alby had already shifted in the mean time, he was examining the blond, peering into his eyes and listening to his heart beat. "I think he's having a vision."

"Jesus Christ, right _now_?"

"Yes, right _now_ you insufferable moron. Now help me lay him down, he'll be gone a bit."

They both moved the boy together, rolling Newt onto his back. His brown eyes unseeing and glazed looking.

"Gone for a bit? You make this sound as if its a natural occurrence."

"That's because it is."

There was incoherent mutters sounding from the blond. Minho looked extremely anxious as he watched. He turned to Alby.

"He look's like that time I first saw you guys."

Alby grunted. "I'd thought you'd be the last one but apparently we're somewhere close to another. I wonder who it'll be."

The dark skinned male ignored the questioning looks the other had sent him. He didn't think he could explain it properly without Newt helping…

"Thomas.."

There it was, a name.

"Who's Thomas?" Minho asked, he tried shaking the blond away.

"An old friend." Alby supplied.


	3. Chapter 2

Newt wasn't always like this—having visions and what not. He wasn't born into it. It had just…happened. He had just turned thirteen, voice still squeaky, body gangly and odd looking. In his family's coven there was the heritage ritual of obtaining and taming a demon, thus making it into a familiar. But it wasn't like that with Alby, in fact Newt was just about to choose a demon with swirling gray eyes when he had stepped in his way. Dark brown eyes glittering with curiosity. Who ever heard of such a thing, a curious demon? If anything they were aloof and uninterested in just about everything. The demon was unlike anyone Newt had met. He was quiet, but every bit of a predator. Dark skinned, arms and thighs bulging with powerful muscles and those eyes… black smoke that typically held no emotions were alive, moving, looking for something. That something unknown at the time…

"Uh…can I help you?" Newt asked, giving a weary glance to the demon. They didn't exchange any pleasantries, just odd stares, appraising one another.

"I want to be your familiar." It was quick and to the point. Then the demon had left after informing the blond that he would return if Newt called for him.

That alone confused Newt. Once again, whoever heard of a demon volunteering themselves? Sure, witches and demons got along quite fine but it wasn't like every demon wanted to be tied down with—no matter how strong—a human. Newt called him back a week later, hands sweaty and shaking with nervousness.

"Why?"

The demon, Alby he had found out later, had smirked as if he knew something the other didn't and responded in a very cryptic way. "You'll remember soon enough."

And true to the demon's word, he remembered or rather experienced it. Like his future visions he descended into a world of bright greens, grays and burning oranges. They were the same but different, even the names correlated with it as well… it was scary the first time, he had collapsed in his bedroom, held lightly between the dark skinned demon's arms and shuddering with the emotions left behind from it all. His parents, highly concerned and suspicious of demonic forces, brought their worries to the High Priest in London. The High Priest had performed a series of spells and rituals on Newt, even going as far as to ask if he had upset someone, or touched something magical in nature. (Newt had to hold his tongue from reminding the man that no matter how powerful a curse it was, nothing could do something as this so powerfully. It went beyond the powers of a typical witch…) So the High Priest performed a cleansing spell on him, removed Alby away from him and monitored him. The visions and dizzying headaches decreased but didn't go entirely away. He would always be this way. His parents had described his ailment in such funny way.…

An soul awakening to its state of metempsychosis.

Magic was a delicate thing, and if his parents truly thought that…

There was no stopping whatever else came along with his awakening…

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><p>"Oh my god, <em>please<em> tell me this isn't Beacon Hill." Minho pleaded.

Newt rolled his eyes,"It's called Beacon _Hills_, as in more than one."

Minho released noise that sounded like a mixed grunting of a pig and wailing of dying cat. The Asian boy slammed his forehead against the car's leather steering, blubbering about the loss of _there are no Starbucks, Newt! You can't do this to me _and _Oh God! That's the entire town! Turn back while we still can._

The town center was small, but quaint and cozy to the blond. He was sure there were other popular places around but farther spread out. Alby, who had been sitting in backseat silently, kicked the back of Minho's chair and called out to the boy. "Really? Of all things to complain about you're picking those? You humans are petty. . ."

Newt sighed, wondering how on Earth how he managed to wind up with these two of all people…

"Alby, you were once human too."

Minho stopped his noise polluting whale noises. "Which, if you've forgotten, hadn't told me that story, yet."

Alby grunted, kicking the back of Minho's chair harder. "Which you won't be getting anytime soon."

Minho whined as Newt ordered for the both of them to shut up.

"For bloody christ's sake! Just pull over there or something, I have to get out this death trap!"

He pointed at a small diner, a red neon sigh was positioned over the door, reading: Light House. Minho pulled the car into reverse, easing into a small spot parked between two Hondas; one white, one blue. Minho had barely pulled the car into park when Newt was opening the door, red scuffed toes of his converse touching the hot pavement underneath him. The smell of greasy food wafted from the small diner's open door, soft music could be heard playing inside. Minho grumbled as he got out of the car, his burgundy backpack swinging angrily over one shoulder.

"I bet this place is filled with murderous truckers and crazy old republicans that think we still live in the Stone Age."

Newt shook his head,"There's so many things wrong with that statement, Min. You're acting like we're in the rural backwoods of Texas, we're in California and I don't think most republicans even believe there _was_ a Stone Age."

Minho snorted, stiffening his shoulders as he himself were walking into very pits of Hell, braced himself and entered the tiny diner; Newt following with Alby close at their heels.

The diner was decked in a red checkered fashion, gingham cloths covered the tables, and one lone, deflated looking waitress frequented the scene. She barely spared them a glance as she wheezed out a hello and walked them to a booth. Minho sat across from Newt and Alby, frowning and looking through the vinyl diner menus. Newt ordered them all coffees, feeling the long term effects of driving in a car for two days. He could barely keep his eyes open, and Alby, that fucking prat, didn't even need sleep—just the occasion eating and he'd be right as rain.

"Would that be all?" the waitress asked in a withered voice.

"Just a hamburger, no tomatoes or mustard. That's all for me." Minho said, handing the menu back to the woman. She looked over to Newt and Alby, eyebrows raised in question.

"Nothing for me," Alby said.

"I'll just have what he's having…" Newt says, hand covering the front of his mouth in an effort to stifle his tired yawn.

The woman nods, deposits a mountain full of napkins on their table and walks away, wobbling dangerously on three inch high heels. Minho rolls his eyes at the sight before turning back to face his friends. "Okay, I'm going to say it. We all, well excluding you, Alby, are looking like freaking zombies. How about we ask dear old Martha-Ann when she comes back to point us in the direction of a bed and breakfast?"

Newt barely manages to suppress his urge to scream at the other male in frustration, and settles for burning gaze instead. "Must you be so condescending? Leave the poor woman alone, it's not her fault she was born color blind…those heels were atrocious."

Minho smiled, pulling his backpack off his shoulder and setting it beside him, tugging open the zipper. "Well since you seem to be in the mood for no chit-chat," he tugs out a worn, scratched gameboy advance out of the deep confines of his backpack and smiles. "I'll be playing Fire Red while you think of the many, great oh so powerful ways of destroying the literal magical beacon of Beacon Hills that draws everything dark and creepy. No offense, Alby."

"Is it amusing that I find myself a host of a dark skinned human as well?"

"Yes."

"Then none taken."

They waited patiently for the waitress to arrive back with their food when Newt realized…_how where they going to destroy_ _the literal beacon of Beacon Hills?_

—

Stiles woke up, face plastered to the side of his keyboard and drool pooling around the keys J and K. The monitor illuminating the small bedroom with a faint green color. The brunet sat up, back of his palms rubbing tiredly at his eyes.

What was he doing last night?

He frowned, blinking, his vision somewhat blurry still and then it came to him. Or rather he saw it, on the LCD screen of his computer that is. He had spent the vast majority of his night researching, even going as far to click links of Wikipedia of all places for answers and so far there was one recurring answer. And so far he didn't want to believe it, he knew werewolves existed and people had a tendency to come back from the dead sometimes, but reincarnation? The rebirth of a soul? That was just _crazy_. He clicked away from the website so fast he almost sprained a muscle in his index finger.

He rubbed tiredly at his face again, contemplating on wether to turn off his computer to join his dad downstairs for breakfast or wallow even further into his pity. For once he chose the more positive choice of his possibilities.

Stiles stood up, stretched and headed over to his dresser, shifting through Marvel themed t-shirts. He decided against Iron Man for once and grabbed the collar of his faded green Loki shirt. He didn't bother to change his pants seeing how he fell asleep in his jeans from yesterday and that they weren't completely riddled with dirt or anything, it seemed fine. He headed down the stairs two at a time. The smell of eggs cooking and the sweet aroma of coffee greeted him.

"I really hope you out sea salt on that, Dad."

His father, who was standing at oven cooking, looked behind him with a grimace.

"And I expected to win the lottery, chances for both of us are really slim."

Stiles smirked at his dad, patting him on the shoulder and moving to cupboards, fingers reaching for plates.

"So how was school yesterday?" His father's tone was light and that made Stiles nervous, had the others called his dad about yesterday? Stiles really hoped for their sake they hadn't…

"It was fine, totally boring but fine."

Stiles began to set the plates across the table, nervousness practically pouring off him in waves of sweat.

"That's good, considering all things."

Stiles knew it was too good to be true. Of course his dad to bring the fact of Nogitsune possession into play.… Stiles roughly placed a plate on the table, startling his father.

"Jesus, you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"I don't know—rather a heart attack then a simpering sympathetic smile."

His father looked at Stiles, wide eyed and mouth open in question. Stiles didn't even give him a chance to respond.

"Dad, I was possessed, okay? I wasn't implanted with a different brain or anything, I'm still Stiles and I'm still fine. Stop treating me like I'm broken, what was done was done." Stiles turned away from him, eyes feeling wet and chest shuddering.

Stiles's father's voice was soft now, "Stiles, you don't honestly believe that. Do you? You talk about it as if the possession hadn't completely destroyed you. I know you're Stiles but you are different, wether you want to realize it or not. I haven't been the best father but—"

"Don't say that, you're the best dad, my dad, but don't you realize it? I'm all bad inside and out, practically fucking tainted. I love you, just please don't act like this way to me too." Stiles swallows, hot tears slipping down his face. "I don't want people to worry about me, there's more important things. So can we please eat breakfast and not talk about it anymore?"

"If–if that's what you want."

His father moves, hands and arms wrapping around Stiles, lips pressed against his temple in a light, loving manner. A habit his mother had whenever she hugged Stiles. He does his best to not cry like a baby and half way succeeds.


	4. Chapter 3

**Holy shit I haven't updated in quite a while, I'm really sorry and A03/F.F has been really iffy with me lately. I don't know if it's because I'm doing everything from my phone or not, but the notes after and before the chapter keep ending up in other chapters. Really fucking annoying. Well anywho, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I made it extra long ;)!**

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><p>Stiles eats breakfast with his dad in an awkward silence, only speaking whenever he was spoken to. Finally after fifteen minutes of agonizing awkwardness his father's cell phone releases a shrilly tone, a ring tone reserved for those that needed the sheriff. His father sends Stiles a withering look to keep silent and flips open his cell phone. Stiles smiles through his mouthful of food back at his father, pretending to zip up his mouth and throwing the key to it over his shoulder. His father rolls his eyes, answering his phone in a prim professional manner.<p>

( "A flip phone, Dad? _Really_?" Stiles looked in horror at the once popular phone in his father's grip. God, at least it was an okay phone… A red color dusted along his father's cheeks. "It's a Razor, Stiles…" Stiles still laughed even though his dad had bought the thing ages ago.)

"Hello?"

Stiles listened silently, picking absentmindedly at his plateful of scrambled eggs, running his fork repeatedly over his plate, really wishing for once that he had _taken_ Peter's bite; he's really kill to have super heightened hearing, just imagine all things he would be able to eavesdrop on! He could barely hear anything at all and he wasn't even sitting that far apart from his dad. Stiles wasn't sure, but the grating aged voice sounded like a female. A frantic one, too he added in afterthought.

Anyways, his father and the unknown woman talk back and forth terse tones, it ending with a sigh and phone snapping shut. He can see the tension in his father's shoulders, he can pretty much guess it wasn't a standard call of the town looney or a mewling cat stuck in the park tree.

( Okay, maybe he'd kill to have that awesome hang up, again…)

"What's wrong, Dad?" Stiles asks through a mouthful of food, almost choking on the burnt crust of his toast. Seriously, his dad was never cooking again. Ever.

"A fight started up at the diner Light House, apparently it's 'street thugs' Mrs. Mayberry claims.." His father chuckles standing up, brushing the crumbs from his fingers. Stiles can't help but ask, it's a force of habit more than anything.

"Can I come, too?" He blurts out, fingers twisted for good luck under the table. Practically hearing the phantom echo of no ringing through his skull.

"Hurry up then, don't want this to become a serious thing with you."

Stiles certainly didn't think his dad would even say yes. He moves at a lightning fast speed, arms filled with dirty dishes, and throws them into sink before bounding towards the door in excitement. He's in the car already, has it started and ready to go before his dad's even half way out the front porch. Stiles leans over in he seat, hands pushing against the horn for his dad to hurry up. He can't remember the last time he actually had this much excitement over random, normal occurrence in Beacon Hills…well, he certainly hoped it was normal.

* * *

><p>About fifteen minutes into their early lunch—Alby excluded—all freaking Hell breaks loose. Newt had just bitten into his burger, eyes rolling from the juicy taste of the tender meat and apparently from what the waitress had called their 'secret' sauce, when the front two windows of the diner caved in, spidering out into long cracks before showering everyone in bits of the windows' glass. Alby, ever the protector, pushes both of his friends into the plastic covering of the booth, hands griped tightly.<p>

Newt's eyes close in reflex, ears listening for the cause of their attacker. They all hear the terrified shriek of the waitress.

"God fucking damnit! I can't even eat!" Minho shouts from his place, hands covering the front of his eyes in safety. The waitress screams shrilly again, running into the back of the diner's building, possibly to call the police and hide. Newt really hopes she just hides, things would be a lot harder to deal with if local authorities were called.

Newt opens his eyes as Alby's warmth leaves his side. It isn't very surprising at what greets him. The entire diner is ruined, longs rips tattered the tables' cloth, the windows are all shattered, the table and chairs upturned and splintered; nothing is salvageable… And their cause stands in the middle of the room, eyes gleaming a lethal blood red. It's a man, or what Newt thinks is a man, it's upper half is formed into a grotesque snarling wolf; completely with bloody swinging drool. The attacker releases a roar, charging forward with at least three inch long claws. Alby steps into the feral werewolf's path, hands outstretched and shoulder muscles rippling. Newt knows personally that the werewolf doesn't stand a chance against Alby.

"Shit! There's more!" Minho cries out loudly, madly waving a hand to another figure—an odd looking woman with feline features—stepping into the diner, her eyes on the blond Mage. Newt hisses in anger, grabbing at Minho's backpack and reaching inside just in time as the woman catapults toward them.

She effectively bowls them both over, knocking the wind out of their lungs. She leans forward, her nails dripping with a foul, greenish liquid, grazes the side of Newt's cheek in a mock of curiosity. Newt throws his arm forward, index finger pressing slightly against the nozzle of a light orange spray bottle. She let's out a low laugh, fangs glinting in the morning light. She digs the heel of her platform shoe into Minho's thigh, notching how the other tried crawling slowly away. Newt clenches his teeth together is suppressed rage.

"Are you going to spray me like some ill-tempered cat? Boy, you should know better than to know that won't work on me." She grinds her left knee into Newt's abdomen this time, laughing as the blond let's loose a shrill scream. It takes a minute or two before the blonde even responds. He wheezes out his reply.

"It is when it's filled with wolf's bane and about everything else fatally dangerous to Weres. So hello to the standard form of Were Spray made by yours truly."

Newt sprays her in the face, wincing as she claws at her eyes pitifully. Minho in the mean time seems to have gotten his breath back, he stands uneasily next to the female Were, a splintered leg of chair gripped tightly in his hands. He swings it forward, breaking the leg even further as it smashed against the woman's nose and face. Newt scrambles away backward, feet kicking out wildly from beneath him. The bottle of Were spray rolling out of his grasp.

"Hey, I don't appreciate you getting all the credit for my marvelous idea," Minho bends down, picking it up and kisses the bottle, "Like you're that creative."

Minho pulls him up by the collar of his shirt, hands and fingers shaking nervously as he begins pulls more things out of his backpack. He sadly comes up empty handed, a look of panic on his face. "Fuck, everything is in the car… no matter how wonderfully inventive, this Were Spray won't really kill them. The big stuffs in the car. Don't suppose you would whip some spells?"

The location spell and vision had taken its toll on Newt's body, but he wasn't completely depleted of energy. Newt nods his head, hand moving upwards to his family's necklace, lips moving soundlessly. The woman lets out a shriek as she gets thrown forward, skull smattering with blood as she crashes head first into a pile of glass. She growls, throwing an entire table at them in retaliation. Minho yelps, narrowly dodging the wooden projectile.

"You insolent pesk! Figures you would be a witch, humans can't do anything by themselves!"

"Well, we know how to not monologue like you. Sheesh, practically sending me to sleep over." Minho says in undertone. The Asian boy is hopping from foot to foot, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Newt huffs, knowing the other teen just had to open his mouth and make things even much worse… Newt doesn't get to chance to mutter another defense spell as third assailant comes from seemingly out of no where, a high heeled boot coming in contact with his temple and jaw. His world spinning is a smear of colors before blackness splatters across his vision. He's out like a light.

"Newt!" He hears Minho call.

* * *

><p>Stiles is all but jumping up and down in passenger seat of his father's cruiser, fingers twitching longingly to turn up his father's police transmission radio.<p>

"Stiles?" His father's tone is light but authoritative.

"Yes?" he squeaks out, nervous that his father is suddenly going to change his mind for bringing Stiles along. A park wasn't that far off from the diner, he could just drop off Sti—

"Please stop shaking like a small lap dog, if I knew you'd be like this I would've let you stay at home. You alone can make a small earthquake."

"Yeah, sorry." Stiles winces.

_Great going, idiot_ he reprimands himself, _great way of showing dad you can't even sit still!_ There's more fuzz from the radio, a barely there voice squeaking at them. It's mostly drill work and other petty things like kids stealing or a fight. His father turns down the radio, whole heartedly trying to ignore the questioning look Stiles gives him.

"Sorry, but listening to that thing will drive you nuts. The stuff never stops."

"So you rather ignore rightly deserved justice calling to you?" His father snorts, "This isn't Gotham and I am no Commissioner Gordon, son, and I don't completely ignore it—I'm just taking a break."

"But justice never sleeps." Stiles chimes in, a bright grin set in place. His father smiles back, shoulders slumping in his seat. It's been a while since Stiles truly smiled. "Yeah, I guess not, huh? Well, kid, let's go get us some bad guys."

* * *

><p>"Oh my good lord what are we going to do?" Minho askes, eyes wide and frantic. He nervously pulled at the ends of his fingers, walking a rut into the floor as he moved forward and backward in the destroyed diner. Alby had subdued the three Weres, trapping them in a circle of mountain ash and…where those demonic symbols or some shit? Oh, Jesus Minho did not want to know.<p>

He looks to his right where they had laid Newt out carefully over a partially standing booth, a bruise blossoming from his temple to his jawline. Minho winced. That had to hurt like a bitch… God, Newt was gonna be really pissy when he wakes up.

"Calm the fuck down, we've been in a situation like this before." Alby startles Minho out his thoughts, grunting as he hunches over, face to face with one of the snarling Weres. "We're going to get information and then we're leaving and taking Newt to a hospital. You're lucky he wasn't hurt too bad, mutt." Alby spat on Were, smiling as the male wriggled in his bindings and growled. The gleam in Alby's eyes were eerie… Minho shivered, practically sensing the blood lust rolling off of Alby.

The demon had always been extremely protective of Newt, almost to point where Minho would call it love—wether romantically or brotherly he didn't know—but demons weren't suppose to have emotions, at least not for humans. Why would Alby care beyond the feelings of just protecting his master? Minho had barely saw it, a flashing blue, white, and red coming from the corner of his eye. He exhaled, "Shit, we don't have time. Yippee kai yay is here." He could hear car tires crunching over broken bits of glass.

"What're we going to do? Fuck, Alby, they're coming!" Alby moved quickly, slamming the forehead of all three Weres together, effectively knocking them the out. He struggled carrying two of Weres, leaving Minho to carry the female. Alby nodded towards the back room of the diner, "That way." Minho grunted in confirmation, hefting the woman over his back and trudging after Alby quickly. The waitress was still hiding in the back room and she have a wide eyes look at the both of them. Minho smiled, using his free hand to wave at her.

"I know this looks bad but we didn't kill them."

She ran out screaming through the back door. Alby huffed in annoyance, following the scared waitress's path to the back door. "Did you really have to say that? That woman was scared beyond belief." "Maybe it'll be traumatic enough that she'll forget?" "You're a fucking idiot, the most moronic human I have ever had the misfortune to know." "Love you, too, Alby." They stopped, resting against the back of building as they watched the streets for any more signs of police activity. Alby sighed gratefully and turned to his friend, a brief sigh of weariness flickering over his face.

"Okay, I'm going to deal with Weres. I want you to call the police and make up something, something big enough for them to believe." Alby hefted the two over his shoulders, back already turning away from Minho.

"Wait! What how're you going to get them into the car?"

"I'm a demon." Alby said simply.

* * *

><p>"Woah," is what Stiles wants to say when they pull into the almost empty parking lot in front of the Light House diner. There's run down Ford owner by a local and silver Van with Iowa license plates. But instead his brain decides to fizzles out, giving his usually-on-lock-down mouth free reign.<p>

"Holy shit, it looks like a tornado swept through." Stiles grips down on his dad's forearm suddenly, feeling that something is terribly wrong here. This isn't normal of teenage vandalism and criminal mischief. It feels otherworldly…it feels supernatural.

Stiles swears inwardly, "Dad, do you have your wolf bane bullets?" His father digs through the cruiser's glove compartment, pulling out a wooden case filled with bullets.

"You think it's something other than human causing this, Stiles?" His dad sounds skeptical and slightly disappointed. Stiles really couldn't blame him, he wished everything in Beacon Hills didn't have to be caused by monsters and what not, life just wasn't fair for anyone who lived here.

"Well, I don't know, it could be, or not. Just be careful. I'll call Scott."

The sheriff huffed, eyes focused on the building before them. He begins to unload his regular bullets from his gun, smoothly sliding the dangerous new ones in. His hands taunt around the weapon as he exits the car, stepping through the mess that was the diner. The sheriff barely sees him, a blond, laid out horizontal on a barely standing booth—he's bleeding, a purple bruise running from his temple to jaw line. It looks like a foot print. He turns back to the car and calls out for Stiles to call for an ambulance. Of course Stiles being Stiles, doesn't just call the paramedics but leaves the car to investigate himself.

"Stiles, stay in the car!"

Stiles doesn't listen but inches forward, feeling as if he's being pulled inside. He steps inside, dust and powder billowing up into the air. He knows the scent from anywhere, the archaic smell of mountain ash and…something else, it's heady and bitter.

"Dad, that's mountain ash and unless you want the others finding this here, I suggest you let me help." His father grunts at Stiles, moving to see if he can wake the blond up and question him. John places a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder—holy fuck he was boney!—and shook him, muttering into his ear.

"Dad? Is he okay?" Stiles asks.

The boy rolls over in his sleep, eyelids fluttering, trying to open. Stiles catches a glimpse of doe brown eyes and he's just gone. Literally, he blinks and he's in another place all together. Fuck, not again...

_He's scared, skin sticky with nervous sweat and he can't remember a single fucking thing. His name…what was it? He can't even think of other names even though he does know them. It's crazy. Whatever he's in gives a shuddering lurch, metal on metal grind and—are those voices? He's suddenly shrouded in blinding light, eyes wincing from the brightness, heart thumping as he heard loud voices from above. All male._

_"Look at that shank."_

_"How old is he?"_

_"Looks like a klunk in a T-shirt."_

_"Dude, it smells like feet down there!"_

_"Hope you've enjoyed the one-way trip, Greenie."_

_"Ain't no ticket back, bro." He's scared—doesn't know why. The voices are odd, tinged with an unplaceable accent while others were more familiar. And as if an emotional switch is turned off he feels calm, knowing they won't hurt him; at least without a good enough reason. By now his eyes have adjusted to light and he can see the grinning faces looking down at him. They were just kids, like him. Normal looking._

_He jumps back however—earning laughter from above—as someone throws a rope down at him: a tangled mess of thick ivy. He hesitated for a second or more before wrapping himself around the make shift rope, clutching it tightly as he is yanked from above. Everything is so bright. Grays, greens, and blues._

_And then there is him. Gangly, leaning awkwardly to one side against a tree in the far back. He's beautiful…_

Stiles blinks back as the familiar voice speaks for the first time. It's raspy, tired, and scared. He's back in the diner, getting a curious side glance from his father as the mysterious blond's shaking hand clutches the front of his shirt in a death grip.

"Thomas?"

Stiles feels something heavy in his stomach, making him sick and excited all at the same time. They stare at each other for what seems like eternity when Stiles just feels this overwhelming urge to speak, his mind on auto pilot and his tongue controlling him.

"Newt?"

**Notes:**

**Well I hope my shitty fight appeased you xD**

**It was just terrible...**


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